Along a Razor's Edge
by Avnaihi
Summary: In which the Malfoys wage war, Harry Potter gains a widely-feared ability, and Draco attempts to coerce Harry into aiding the Malfoys. But can Harry continue to resist when the wizarding world turns against him? Not DH epilogue compliant. HP/DM.
1. Chapter 1

**ALONG A RAZOR'S EDGE**

Summary: HP/DM. In which the Malfoys wage war, Harry Potter gains a much-feared ability, and Draco corrects Harry's assumptions about the differences, or lack-thereof, between good and evil.

Warnings: Slash, HP/DM. Violence, Angst. Not epilogue compliant.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters belong to the wonderfully talented J.K. Rowling. Anything you do not recognize belongs to me.

A/N: This has to be the third time I've re-posted this chapter in two days, but I am officially done correcting it. Enjoy! Review!

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"Are you sure you're alright, Harry?" Hermione asked, her tone tinted with worry.

Harry Potter looked up, startled, from where he had been staring emptily into space, a plate of untouched food in front of him. "I'm fine," he snapped, then quickly apologized when he saw the stricken look on Hermione's face.

He was fine, though. Except he wasn't. Truthfully, he had been feeling strange ever since they had returned to Hogwarts to complete their missed Seventh Year. At first, he had attributed the feelings, including a lack of appetite for normal food coupled with an unexplained craving for another, unknown, type of substance, as some bizarre aftershock of finally defeating Voldemort. The severity of the symptoms had been escalating, though, and now he barely ate, despite a raging appetite. His lack of any genuine hunger was coupled with an unforgiving pain of mounting proportions. Between the lack of food and pain, Harry had become paler and paler, until his black hair contrasted severely with his white skin, and his green eyes gleamed wildly.

There were other peculiarities, as well, other than his sudden non-loss of appetite. Harry always had a fairly impressive ability to resist curses, evidenced by his ability to throw off the Imperious Curse. Now, though, Harry's resilience exceeded any known precedent. Barely any curse, hex or charm affected him in any way. Ron thought it was terribly cool, but Harry, having a bit more experience with unexplained magical occurrences, found the whole affair exceedingly worrisome.

Madam Pomphrey had run several diagnostic tests, and cast countless charms, but could not determine what was ailing him. Then, about a month ago, Pomphrey had asked Harry, in an anxious, helpful tone, if he needed to talk to anyone about his experiences in the war. Harry had not returned to the Hospital Wing since.

Ron and Hermione did not know the extent of his illness, either. Harry told them he was simply was not hungry, when they asked why he never ate. Ron and Hermione had suffered through enough in the war; they deserved their happily-ever-after, free from pointless worry.

Harry looked up from his silent contemplation to see Hermione still eyeing him doubtfully. "Honestly, Hermione, I'm fine," he repeated, gently, this time. To his relief, Hermione nodded, although she still looked a touch worried. "You should eat, before Ron comes back wanting some _private_ time," Harry teased, desperate for her to stop examining him, and was pleased when Hermione blushed.

Hermione and Ron were finally dating, and frequently snuck off to spend time alone. They rarely ever separated, but today Ron was serving detention for setting a rare Ninuna vine on fire in Herbology. Apparently, Ron had been startled when he found the vine suddenly wrapped around his torso, and he had shrieked ("screamed," Ron insisted) and set the vine on fire. At the time, Harry had been feeling so ill he barely noticed the blaze sweep through Greenhouse Five.

Fortunately, though, the Christmas holiday started tomorrow. Harry and Hermione both had been invited to the Weasley's for Christmas. Hopefully, Harry thought, the time away from Hogwarts would help him feel better. Maybe it was just the pressures of Seventh Year affecting him, but he thought the stress of fighting Voldemort would have been far worse.

A shout of laughter from the Slytherin table jerked Harry out of his reverie. He looked over, through a blur of hunger and pain, to see Draco Malfoy smirking gleefully as Pansy Parkinson batted red sparks away from her hair, which was steadily turning orange. Harry followed the progress of the red sparks slowly, as if captivated, while his unnatural hunger roared to life, a fierce desire to consume, to devour… It was only when he encountered Draco Malfoy's strangely triumphant stare that his trance was broken.

Harry had personally testified at all of the Malfoys' trials, in order to fulfill the life debt he owed to Narcissa Malfoy, who had saved his life during the final battle with Voldemort. He would have much rather seen Lucius Malfoy's sneering face locked deep inside Azkaban, but Narcissa Malfoy had invoked the life debts, in a tone at once demanding and pleading, and Harry had to acquiesce. He had not considered, though, that his testimony would result in Draco Malfoy's annoying presence being shoved back into his life.

Draco's normally acidic barbs, however, although still present, were tempered, as if Draco was waiting for the opportune time to strike. Harry shoved the thought out of his mind as another wave of hunger, this one accompanied by intense pain, swept through his body, blurring his view of the red sparks dancing over the Slytherin table.

"I'm going to go work on the Potion's essay," he announced, abruptly standing up.

"We'll join you later, Harry, after Ron eats," Hermione said distractedly, watching her boyfriend, who apparently had finished his detention, stride toward the Gryffindor table.

Harry nodded, Hermione's goodbye barely registering through the haze of pain. He greeted Ron on his way out of the Great Hall, but two seconds after the doors closed behind Harry, the pain became so great he could not remember what he had said, or how Ron had responded.

A few more stumbling paces, and Harry emerged outside, breathing in the cool winter air with relief as he felt the pain recede slightly. For some unexplainable reason, Harry had discovered that going outside, away from the chaotic mass of students casting spells, always helped lessen the pain.

Harry trudged through the snow, his path an ugly scar across the pristine white Hogwarts grounds, until he finally reached the lake. The lake's edges were frozen over with a glistening layer of ice, and for a moment Harry was struck with the insane desire to walk out onto the lake, to see the ice crack, and finally break under his feet. Harry wondered if the cold water would numb the pain currently lancing his body with hot pokers, then shook his head as he realized exactly what idiocy he was contemplating.

The pain was becoming uncontrollable, Harry knew. If he did not find a solution soon… Harry had just decided to ask Hermione for help researching his illness when the pace of someone's footsteps, muffled because of the snow, sounded behind him. Closing his eyes, Harry wished the intruder away. Already, the other person's presence was making the pain come back in angry waves, unmercifully pounding on his body.

Harry continued to ignore the person, but the person did not leave. In fact, the footsteps seemed to be coming ever closer, and the pain increased exponentially as the person neared. Harry turned slowly to face the person, but he had barely begun to move when he heard a soft chuckle, then the whistle of an object swung quickly through the air.

A sharp pain exploded in the back of his head, and black dots swam in his vision, dancing with the white snowflakes that had just begun to fall. Harry crumpled to the ground, fighting to hold onto his consciousness, but the winter world was steadily becoming more black than white. Then, though, Harry was unconscious, and nothing mattered anymore.

--

Draco Malfoy stood above the prone form of Harry Potter, a bloody Beater's bat held loosely in his hand. "Too easy, Potter," he drawled, bending down and wrapping Potter's hand around a small stone. Draco straightened, and admired the crimson blood staining the snow around Potter's head.

In five minutes, the Portkey Draco had placed in Potter's hand would transport the other boy into a cell in Malfoy Manor's dungeons. Tomorrow, Narcissa Malfoy would arrive to pick her son up for the Christmas holiday. Potter's absence would not be noted until they were long gone.

The swiftly falling snow obscured Draco's footprints as he strode back towards Hogwarts, spelling the Beater's bat clean of Potter's blood. As he reached the entrance to the warmly lit Entrance Hall, Potter's body vanished from the Hogwart's grounds.

Everything was going according to plan.

--


	2. Chapter 2

ALONG A RAZOR'S EDGE

**ALONG A RAZOR'S EDGE**

Summary: In which the Malfoys wage war, Harry Potter gains a widely-feared ability, and Draco attempts to coerce Harry into aiding the Malfoys. But can Harry continue to resist when the wizarding world turns against him? Not DH epilogue compliant. HP/DM.

Warnings: Slash, HP/DM. Violence, Angst. DH spoilers. Not epilogue compliant.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters belong to the wonderfully talented J.K. Rowling. Anything you do not recognize belongs to me.

A/N: Much thanks to all who reviewed!

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It was dark. Dark and cold.

_Where was he? _Harry wondered with a sort of detached absent-mindedness_. Had he fallen asleep outside in the snow?.. _Harry drifted back into the blessed nothingness of unconsciousness without ever determining exactly where he was…

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Gradually, Harry became aware that he was lying on a stone floor. _And he was so cold, so very cold! _ _His whole body hurt…_

Wherever he was, the pain that had been tormenting him for the past three months was still present. The top of his head was _throbbing_, too…without opening his eyes, Harry reached around and gingerly felt along the back of his head. Harry's eyes flickered open in alarm as his fingers tangled in his matted, sticky hair. Harry brought his fingers back in front of his face for confirmation, but, even without his glasses, even in the dark, he could see an unmistakable liquid coating his fingers, gleaming black in the gloom. Blood.

Suddenly, Harry sat up as he finally registered the severity of his situation. He peered into the gloom wildly, his fingers desperately scrambling along the floor in what was an undoubtedly futile search for his wand and glasses.

Someone had left him bleeding from a serious head injury on a stone floor. Harry strongly suspected they would have taken his – he sighed in relief as his fingertips brushed over the cool metal frames of his glasses.

Harry put on the glasses, relieved they were not broken. Even with the aid of the glasses, though, Harry still could not discern his location, and was left to examine the area around him. The small room was entirely made of a cool grey stone, worn dull over the years. Harry peered through the gloom once more, still too much in pain to attempt to stand, and distinguished a set of formidable metal bars a few paces in front of him. He was in a cell, then.

Harry stopped searching for his wand. Even the vermin whose efforts Voldemort frequently exploited were intelligent enough to take his wand, and Harry had the, admittedly depressing, suspicion that his current captors were far cleverer.

Certainly, they had somehow managed to kidnap Harry from the Hogwarts grounds without anyone being the wiser. On closer inspection, even the lock to his prison appeared to be reinforced, although Harry questioned why they believed he had the ability to open even the standard cell door lock with wandless magic. Regardless, Harry knew he would not be leaving the cell until someone let him out.

--

A few hours passed as Harry tried to focus on dispelling the pain plaguing his body, so he might be able to subdue his captors and take their wands when they came to release him…

--

A while later, when no signs were made to indicate anyone else's presence, Harry began to panic, wondering if anyone was ever coming, or if his kidnappers meant this cell to be his tomb…

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Finally, Harry heard the distinct sound of a heavy door being slammed open. The light in front of his cell door brightened fractionally, and the staccato rhythm of shoes on stone marched ever closer to his cell. Harry tensed, shifting into a fighting position near the door. _If he could just surprise them…_ he sank to his knees as a wave of unnatural agony overwhelmed him. The pain's intensity only seemed to increase as the person strode ever closer.

Harry was incapable of doing anything more than curling into a ball on the stone floor, and _pleading_ with any deity that existed to just make the pain _stop_, to make the person _leave…_ He needed some sort of relief, any sort of relief, the pain was _terrible_, a torture worse than anything he had ever experienced when facing Voldemort…

A key scraped in the lock, and then cell door crashed open. Harry cried out as a fresh wave of agony swept over him. The pain blinded him, it was so debilitating, but finally, _finally_, the onslaught receded slightly, leaving an unexplainable desire to destroy, to consume…

Eventually, Harry gained back enough control to see the pair of polished black shoes resting only a pace in front of him. Harry weakly lifted his head off the ground, the blend of hunger and pain still excruciating. His eyes traveled up over a pair of grey dress pants and expensive shirt to meet the glittering grey eyes of Draco Malfoy.

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Draco gazed malevolently down at Harry Potter, enjoying the obvious pain the other boy was in, curled up on the grimy stone floor, face shining with sweat. Even better, Potter was glaring up at him, green eyes flashing, as though he believed he had any control over his situation. Draco could not resist.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Potter," Draco said, bowing mockingly. To his surprise, Potter's face paled in horror.

"What the hell did you do to me, Malfoy?" Potter spat, tone brimming with unconcealed hatred. Draco paused for a second in confusion, although the emotionless expression on his face never changed. _Potter thought Draco was causing him pain. _ Unfortunately for Potter's rash theory, Draco had, disappointingly enough, not cast any curse on the Gryffindor. He wished he had, though…

"I didn't do anything to you, Potter." Potter's transparent expression announced his disbelief. "This," Draco gestured at Harry, who was still curled up in pain, "all results from the fact your Mudblood mother's ancestors felt the need to consort with Dæmons. Don't blame me because your blood is even filthier than you thought."

Draco decided not to mention that the injury on Potter's head _was_ a direct result of Draco's actions. His father had warned him before he entered the dungeons not to provoke Potter more than absolutely necessary. The implication, which Lucius fully realized, if the slight smirk on his father's face was any indication, was that Draco could still provoke Potter, providing he did not upset the other boy's Dæmon blood. 

Pain was still extremely evident in the tension in Potter's face and body. _The Dæmon transformation must be excruciating_, Draco reflected casually, a hint of glee coloring his thoughts.

Draco lounged insolently against the wall, making certain that Potter had full view of his unconcerned expression. "Of course, you only have yourself to blame for your current imprisonment, Potter," Draco drawled, pretending not to notice the black looks Potter kept directing at him. "The magnanimous Golden Boy of Gryffindor, not content with merely defeating the Dark Lord, feels the need to pardon his enemies, as well. You just couldn't resist accenting the differences between our side and your band of goody-two-shoes Gryffindors, could you, Potter? That was a rather grave error, though, allowing the Malfoys to walk free from Azkaban after such a public humiliation," Draco smirked. "Our penchant for revenge is almost infamous in the wizarding world."

"I owed your mother a wizarding debt," Harry somehow managed to speak in spite of his agony. Draco was almost impressed. "I would have done it anyway. It would have been the right thing to do. Not that you would know anything about that, Malfoy," Harry glared pointedly at his cell.

Potter really did make this too easy. "What, don't like the accommodations?" Draco inquired innocently. "I thought the familiarity would be comforting. I made certain my Portkey deposited you in cell you stayed in last time you enjoyed the hospitality of Malfoy Manor."

Draco lit his wand with a quiet "_Lumos_," intent on taunting Potter even more. He raised his wand, attempting to illuminate the dismal cell further. In was only after the initial light blaze faded from his eyes that Draco realized exactly how serious an error he had made.

Potter had stood up, rising fluidly with a grace that displayed no evidence of the pain the Gryffindor had been suffering only seconds earlier. Potter appraised Draco swiftly, as though calculating a potential threat, but there was no recognition displayed in Potter's eerily glowing eyes.

Draco ran as though the hounds of hell chased him. Lucius Malfoy had warned him, and Draco had known, as well, had heard the legends about Dæmons, about what they did to wizards…

He had only progressed ten meters down the corridor, and had turned his head to check Potter's proximity, when Draco ran straight into a solid object. Draco fell hard to the ground, the wind knocked out of his lungs by his collision. Potter stood in front of him.

Alarmed, Draco tried to scramble backwards, but found he could not move. Instead, Draco was forced to watch a swirling grey cloud materialize around his body, before the cloud drifted over to where Potter stood, green eyes blazing. The cloud spun around Potter, making the other boy's appearance truly frightening and other-worldly.

Somehow, Potter _absorbed_ the cloud, and the roar of noise Draco belatedly realized was filling the dungeon quieted. Potter gazed down at Draco, still without a hint of awareness brightening his eyes, before the Gryffindor continued down the corridor.

Draco slumped against the wall, the last vestiges of his strength abandoning him. He sat there brokenly, like a discarded rag doll, wishing whole-heartedly that Harry Potter had taken his life, instead of his magic.

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End file.
